Garden of Exiles, part 2…
Chilled, damp, bruised, cut, quaking in my shoes and amazed, I stand at the threshold of the unbelievable… but here it is. For the time being, I set aside all the fears and pains, large and small, and stand in the warmth of the morning light. I lean against the warm rock wall, close my eyes and thaw out. Figuring out the mystery of all this can wait for a few more moments. I slip to my knees, find a seat, lean sideways just a bit, rest my head against the rock wall and drift off into sleep.
I wake after I don’t know how long. I sort of come to my senses, I look around. I’m in a deep valley, rimmed by jagged edges, surrounded by tall rock walls with no discernible exit. The thick forest appears to cover quite a distance in front of me. Scattered along the rock walls seem to be a number of hot springs, radiating steam. Then I notice that the ground is a bit warmer than it should be in this cold climate. Is this valley heated by dormant volcanoes or geothermal energy? Could be. Seems like a plausible answer.
Hungry and thirsty, I search for a pathway into the forest. A light breeze, much more gentle than the gale force winds outside the walls whispers through the trees and bushes. I take hesitant steps into the brush, grasses and thorns for quite a while until I see what appears to be a tunnel through the undergrowth, the kind of passage small animals might use. I lay down on my belly and crawl through the foliage tunnel, hoping to find some water, some edible plants and maybe some answers.
After maybe fifty feet of crawling crocodile style, I find a break in the undergrowth, presenting me with what appears to be a trail wide enough to stand and walk. The pathway is firm and without animal tracks. Plants I’ve never seen before grow all around. I see berries and maybe some fruits, but without knowing anything about wild foraging, I’m OK with being hungry for a while. After a time, maybe a half mile, the pathway leads to a large lake. Twisted, distorted and weirdly shaped trees grow in abundance and birds fly through the branches. Some of the trees look like they have faces in them. There’s a large rock in the center of the lake and the distant snowy peaks rise in the distance.
The Island Lake Island
Thirsty, tired and sore, I fall to my knees and stare into the lake. Is it toxic? I wonder and worry. A lake fed by hot springs seems a little dangerous. I smell it. Smells fresh. Seems safe. I raise a handful to my mouth and taste test. It’s warmer than a mountain lake should be but it’s not hot, just a bit warm. I think maybe the gentle heat of the land is melting the mountain snows and that’s where the lake water comes from. The water tastes sweet and pure. I drink and drink and drink until my belly seems ready to burst. I laugh softly about where I am, looking at all the irony around me. I lay down under the warming sun, roll over and breathe deeply. Right before I sleep, I hear the island’s forest exhale and there are some whispers in the distance.
I wake shortly before dusk. My clothes are dry but ragged and stinky from the ordeal, with some small rips and abrasions. Smelling the bouquet of the forest soothes my worries a bit.
Not wanting to spend another night cold to the bone, I consider finding a hot spring to sit by. I circle the edge of the lake and find a pathway up the slope towards a steaming pool. The clear water of the hot spring smells a little of sulfur but it’s quite warm. The rocks where I sit are warm. I curl up, using my sweatshirt as a pillow. I stare into the sky for a long time. The afternoon fades and darkness comes. Clouds stream overhead with occasional breaks through which the moon casts light on the forest. I sleep.
There’s little light the next morning. Dark clouds stream overhead. Rain seems imminent. There’s no sun, only fuzzy highlights in the heavy clouds. I’m hungry but it can wait. As I sit and try to come up with some kind of plan, I can see a fire a ways awaits across the broad rockfall leading to one of the surrounding ridges. The fire is big enough to suggest that it’s intentional and the work of someone else on this island. I’ve got to investigate. There’s no real pathway and the large rocks look difficult but not impossible to climb across. This will take a while. Along my way up the jumbled boulders, my stomach begins to rumble and I think I should have found food beforehand but here I am. The ascent proves to be far more difficult than I thought and it seems like hours go by before I get to the fire.
Dreaming Mountain
What that message might be fades from thought as I climb over and through the last of the boulders before getting to the fire, the fire that burns in the center of the rock face that stretches from the valley floor to the cloud shrouded peak. There’s no fuel, just flame. It takes me a moment to realize that the fire is fueled by gas rising up through the boulders. Up this high on the mountainside, it’s quite cold and without the fire, I’d be freezing. I shuffle up next to the flames and warm up. From down the slope, I guessed that the fire was made by a person but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s a jet of natural gas that was struck by lightning or, or maybe something else?
My hope of finding another soul, greatly diminished, I wait for a few moments and turn to go. As I turn, I see movement to my right. I stop and look in that direction and I see what appears to be a blanket or a cloak moving gently just inside the entrance to a cave. This is an indication of habitation I can’t deny.
Cautiously, I walk to the cave entrance and inch my way inside, I step into a dark passageway. There’s dim light in the distance and other than that, I can’t see much. Suddenly a shape steps in front of me. It’s clearly a man, significantly larger than me, wrapped in a heavy blanket that he’s shaped in to a hood. He says in a coarse voice, “Step outside.” I step back.
Outside the entrance I get a better measure of him. He’s taller than I am but, bundled up in the robes and blankets, he looks a lot bulkier, rather large and intimidating. “I was hoping to find some life here,” I stammer, “and it’s great to find out I’m not alone. Where am I? Who are you and how did you get here?”
“Yeah,” he says, “I know who you are and I know why you’re here. Now go away. I’m not talking to you.”
“What?” I stammer.
“That’s right. I’m not talking to you. I said I’m not talking to you.”
“But, you are talking to me. Right now, in this moment, you’re speaking words to me.”
“I said I’m not talking to you. Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?” Continued…